


Champion Tales

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dom/sub, Fluff, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Purple Hawke, Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Rivalmance (Dragon Age), Sickfic, Sweet Lovin', a bit of everything, angry Hawke is dangerous Hawke, tags update as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: Collection of Hawke centric drabbles





	1. Handers - Stubborn or too stubborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-15  
> Pairing: Handers

It was just a flu.

Well, not 'just' a flu, considering it could probably wipe out half of Darktown and an uncomfortably large share from Lowtown if not for Anders' treatment, but with his care it was _just_ a flu. People were sick, vomiting and shitting all over the place and sweating enough to add a second lake between the docks and the Gallows, but it was nothing Anders couldn't keep under control. He would lose maybe a few elderly people, but mostly because they would insist he focus his strength on the children.

Oh, and of course Hightown was safe. All nobles and servants who got sick had a whole Circle of locked up mages to summon and treat them.

No, the actual problem was that curing the flu was pretty much impossible. One year's flu was not the same as next year's flu, so even with a whole section of skilled healers in a Circle doing nothing all year but find the proper cure for it, there was never something at hand when it was needed. Anders could only hope there was a group in the Gallows frantically trying to create the right spell right now.

But this was hardly his first time taking care of flu patients. Not his first time with so many people getting this sick, nor his first time needing to nurse _so Maker damned many_ of them all at once.

It was just the first time that he caught the flu himself as well.

And Hawke… Hawke was a Maker forsaken _bother_.

"Come back home Anders, you need to rest!"

Anders tried to shake Hawke off his arm without giving Hawke any more attention than absolutely necessary, but Hawke was nothing if not persistent. "And leave all these people to shit themselves to death while I can easily save them? No thanks, Hawke, I'm fine."

"And who's saving _you_ from shitting yourself to death while you're down here, hm?"

"I'm not that sick, I just got a bit of a fever." His body betrayed him promptly as he stood up a little too fast in his frustration. He went light-headed and stumbled a step away from the poor beggar he'd been treating on the floor, the dirty walls of Darktown spinning in nauseating circles and the single bright window to the sunlight above seeming to flash in his eyes like a firestorm spell.

Hawke was right behind him to capture him before he fell, wrapping him up in his arms protectively. "See? Even if you're not shitting yourself to death, you're clearly too sick to keep doing this all night. You've been down here for over twelve hours, Anders!"

Anders pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, willing the nausea to go down. Everything kept spinning and he his mouth flooded with that flavour that came right before vomiting.

Weakly pushing at Hawke's arms, he tried to turn away from the beggar on the floor, _tried_ to stumble a few steps away, but it was hard with Hawke's unforgiving hold on his waist. He barely managed to convince Hawke to loosen his grip in time with urgent, wordless slapping on his arm, bending over as soon as he could to empty what little he'd had in his stomach on the Darktown floor.

The fact that it was mostly bile made even him frown, the realisation that he hadn't eaten since breakfast only dawning at the lack of it coming back. Hawke had brought him food twice during the day, but he had portioned it and given it to his patients.

The combined fever, vomiting and hunger left him exhausted and shaking like a leaf, finally grateful for Hawke's arms keeping him up. His knees would've buckled long ago if it wasn't for Hawke.

"O-okay… maybe you're right," he finally managed, voice rough and barely above a whisper. He felt miserable in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. He'd been wounded, scared, hurt, angry… but he never got sick like this, and he wasn't having a good time with the new experience.

Somewhere during the time Anders was trying to recover Hawke had managed to lose a gauntlet without dropping the mage, and Anders startled a little when a large but bare hand smoothed escaped hair back over his forehead, his own cold sweat slicking it back to keep it in place again. Next he found a water skin lifted for him, and he gratefully rinsed his mouth before taking a few long gulps.

"So you'll come back with me so you can rest now?" Hawke was asking it carefully, as if he expected Anders to say no just out of stubbornness now.

Anders wasn't _that_ stubborn. He knew his own limits.

…well, okay, maybe he was that stubborn. He should probably have listened before puking his guts out already.

"A short rest might be a good idea," he admitted slowly. "If I'm away for just a few hours I won't come back to everyone in Lowtown dead."

"A quick bath, food and a rest," Hawke stated, as matter-of-factly as if he was just confirming what Anders said instead of adding two things. "I already had Sandal fill you a bath with his heat enchantment on it to keep it warm, and Bodahn has made you a delicious but light meal you should be able to stomach even now. And my bed is freshly made, all cool pleasant sheets waiting to wrap around you."

Anders laughed softly, allowing Hawke to manhandle him into the crook of his arm so he could start shuffling over to the closest lift out of Darktown with Hawke's support. "You do know how to pitch a sale, Hawke."

"And don't I know it." There was a somewhat rough kiss to Anders' cheek and a rough scratch of beard against his jaw, but he could only smile and take it in stride. Saying no to Hawke was something he'd never been good at, after all.


	2. Arishok/Hawke - On the romance of dragon slaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-15  
> Pairing: Garrett Hawke/Arishok  
> I was challenged to write M!Hawke/Arishok fluff. This is the fluffiest I could get it.

"You are nervous.”

Hawke scoffed, even if it was only for show. The Arishok had seen perfectly well, of course. That also meant there was no more going back now, and it felt as final as the click of the door when he closed it behind them.

“Big strong qunari? Who wouldn’t be nervous?”

“You did not suffer such an infliction before.”

The Arishok slowly sat down on the cot - a large cot, by Hawke’s standards, but it was dwarfed under the Arishok’s size. He regarded Hawke with a piercing gaze, like he always did, and Hawke could physically _feel_ it. A hot tingle beneath his skin, a throb lower in his groin at all that this look could be promising, a shiver down his spine at being watched at all.

This wasn’t his first time in the Arishok’s quarters, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last. Today, he hoped to settle that.

Now this could either turn out exactly like that - the Arishok would understand his feelings and accept them, keeping him close from now on - or backfire dramatically - if only because he may have the qunari tradition all wrong. Or the Arishok could be offended that Hawke, not converted to the qun, tried to give him this.

It was tricky, but there was hope, and Hawke was known for taking bold chances.

“You know the thing we’re doing - the fucking around, I mean. I spoke to some of your qunari so I know there’s nothing deeper in it for you, but...” he faltered, unable to find his words. Golden tongue, sharp wit, but now he had no idea how to even make a sentence.

That piercing gaze was still on him, in him, and he shuddered beneath the scrutiny.

“It’s different for us. So I asked around to find the equivalent for you, and this- well I want you to have this.”

He took a few fast steps forward and pushed the pendant he had been holding into the Arishok’s hands. He backed away immediately, nervously reaching under his breastplate to pull at the cord with the matching piece.

For the first time, Hawke got to see the Arishok speechless with surprise.

“I know it’s supposed to be a proper dragon, but this is the best I could find. At least it’s a mature dragon and not one of those swarming dragonlings, but I can’t just snap my fingers and have a high dragon descent to slay her, y’know? So I tried, and then this-”

The Arishok held up one hand, and Hawke immediately fell silent. The wordless command was always enough - when he was anywhere else he was sometimes disgusted by how eager he was to obey. How eager he was to follow. He was so close to actually converting himself, if his friends were speaking the truth.

“You slew a dragon. For this.”

“Yes.”

A large hand rose, the pendant slowly studied.

“Usually it is _not_ a real tooth. As you say, dragons are rare creatures, and most qunari are no warriors. Usually the tooth is crafted.”

Hawke felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He had already felt embarrassed, but now he felt like an absolute idiot.

“It is... appreciated.” The Arishok didn’t seem to be entirely certain himself now, looking down at the pendant. “I had not expected this, Hawke.”

“Don’t you usually say how we are all so odd to you anyway,” Hawke joked weakly, unsure whether or not this was a good idea. Probably not, if he was wondering. Varric told him most of his ideas were bad ones, especially the ones he wasn’t sure about.

“Indeed you are.”

The reaction surprised him, and he stood helpless in the middle of the room. Speechless, confused, hopeful.

Until the Arishok lifted a hand to beckon him closer, and from that point it was easier again. Because that sort of intimacy, they’d done before. Often, even.

Not often enough.

 


	3. Carrett - Tending an injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garrett&Carver

Blood. That’s blood. Oh Maker, there was _blood_.

Garrett’s hands fluttered for a moment before he grabbed his large little brother’s shoulders and pushed him down, forcing him to sit on the grass. Carver could easily have resisted, even with his wounded leg, but he went nonetheless.  
Begrudgingly.

“Don’t fuss, brother. You’re not mother.”

“You’re hurt, I’m not fussing. I’m worried!” He knelt in front of Carver, pulling out his leg so he would stretch it. Carver cringed, and that reaction alone said enough. Carver only cringed when it was serious, or he wouldn’t be seen as‘weak’, the proud little sod.

“Take off your pants. Let me see it.”

“Brother!”

“Don’t make me do it for you!”

Carver grumbled, face bright red, but did as he was told now. Garrett wrung his hands in an attempt not just to rip the pants off and get to the injury, fidgeting until Carver had to stretch to wrestle his pants down his boots, the wound exposing.  
Garrett batted his little brother’s hands away quickly, not caring about his pants being stuck on his boots. That was a deep cut dangerously close to his knee, and he would not see his little brother be damaged for good.

“I’m going to heal this.”

“What? No! You can’t heal for shit, Garrett! I can get back to Kirkwall and go see that blighted mage in Darktown or something!”

“You’re not walking on this!” Garrett managed to shove Carver back down just in time, and the younger harrumphed.

“You’re not the boss of me!”

“When my little brother is hurt and is stubborn enough to try wounding himself for life, I sure am!”

He placed both hands on Carver’s leg, and the younger froze. At least he was smart enough not to kick Garrett with his wounded leg. He had been right though, Garrett couldn’t heal for shit. He _could,_ however, heal this cut just enough for it to be safe for Carver to get back to Kirkwall. And he would, even if it cost him the very last dredges of his mana to do so.

Despite his earlier protests, Carver held still when Garrett started to cast, a healing spell seeping into the wound. His muscles jumped and twitched under Garrett’s hand in protest at the inexperienced healing magic, but the wound slowly mended together regardless. Not quite completely, but not half as bad as it was earlier either.

Garrett slumped, his short panic over seeing his brother this hurt and the unfamiliar magic having worn him out. Carver immediately leaned forward to catch him, blushing furiously when he realised Garrett hadn’t been about to fall.

“Now who’s the reckless one, brother?”

“I’d give even more if I could,” he muttered, shifting to clumsily flop down in the grass next to his brother. Carver pulled him a bit closer, giving him the awkward sort of hug he had take to lately. Very awkward, like he was trying to keep Garrett at arm’s length while still hugging him, but Garrett loved it.  
He loved Carver.

“Mother will throw a fit.”

“I know.”

“And you ruined my pants.”

Garrett practically giggled at that, just stopping himself in time to clear his throat and make a somewhat more dignified sound. Carver guffawed though, and he knew he had failed to hide the sound.  
Only when he was done laughing, Garrett was pulled in for a tight hug, a firm kiss planted on his cheek.

“Thank you brother. Sometimes, you’re the best.”

Garrett perked up, eyes sparkling as he turned to meet his brother’s gaze. Carver scowled, pushing him away again.

“ _Sometimes_ , Garrett. _Sometimes_.”


	4. Handers - Massage

“Ohhnnngh that feels _good_.”

Anders rolled his eyes but kept kneading Hawke’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs down to slide over his shoulder blades with easy, practices strokes.

“Nnngfuck there! Right there!”

“Make one more sound like that and I’ll drop you off at the Rose and _leave_ you there.”

“Andersss…” Hawke whined, wriggling under the kneading hands before settling again.“Let me enjoy this luxury. I never met anyone who’s as good with his hands as you are, let me make appropriately appreciative sounds!”

“There is nothing appropriate about those sounds!”  
Anders laughed despite himself, working his hands down to find a particularly resilient bump to massage out. Hawke moaned and whimpered as if Anders had never told him not too, and Anders just sighed good-naturedly. It was useless to try make Hawke do anything, anyway.

“Fuck- oooh _how_ do you do it? That crick has been there for days!”

“Then tell me sooner next time,” he berated gently, smoothing his hands over the injured spot a few more times before moving on.“You know I’ll do this for you anytime, love.”

“You’re the best.”  
Suddenly large, meaty hands grabbed hold of his wrists, pulling him around the chair and down on Hawke’s lap. Anders made a sound of protest, but allowed himself to be manhandled regardless. He wiggled and got comfortable immediately - only to be pushed forward to Hawke’s knees.

“Garrett? What are you- oh!”

His toes curled and he quickly grabbed Hawke’s knees between his thighs for support, his back arching. Those cruelly strong hands had found a sore spot in his back like a magnet, kneading and pushing at it with a tender sort of roughness only Hawke could accomplish. For all his complaining about his lover’s sounds, Anders let out a positively obnoxious moan at the feeling of the soreness being kneaded out as easily as if he had used magic.

“You never tell me when you’re sore either,” Hawke reprimanded playfully, his hands moving skilfully over Anders’ back.

“I-I didn’t know you could- oooh… Andraste’s frilly knickers, Garrett!”

Hawke laughed, and Anders blushed bright red.

“That’s it love. That’s it.”


	5. past Handers and pre Canders - Warning for jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-17  
> Pairing: pre-Canders, past F!Handers
> 
> Be warned this is a complete asshole of a Hawke, and the past Handers is very much the rivalmance at its ugliest

“How can you say that? Even though you’re a mage yourself?”

Gail laughed at his anger, brushing him aside easily. “Not all mages are drama queens like you, Anders, but neither are they as skilled as us. I’m just saying the Templars should keep their cattle better in hand. Those Circle mages are the ones that turn into abominations the moment you hurt their delicate sensibilities, not us. _They_ need containing.”

“They are _people_ , not cattle!”

She huffed dismissively. “They might as well be. But that’s not what I meant-”

“It’s what you _said_ , though.” Anders stepped forward threateningly, although he should know better. Gail’s eyes narrowed immediately and she held up one hand, halting him as surely as if she had slapped him.

“I don’t want to discuss this right now. I came to talk about Carver.”

“You can’t just-!”

“I can and I will. Be a good boy and stop throwing a fit, would you Anders? You’re such a child sometimes, no wonder Carver likes you.”

Anders was seeing red now. Red, with a distinct Fade blue at the edges. Gail seemed to be aware, by the way she pursed her lips, but she didn’t do anything about it. Possibly because she knew Anders wouldn’t attack her.

Because how could he? She was Gail Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and the woman he’d been angrily pining after for years now.

He hated her. He loved her.

She was such an arse and she knew it. In fact, Anders was pretty certain she did it on purpose. Half her words were meant to wound, the other half was meant to seduce. Not even the people she loved deserved her kindness, even though they did get her fierce protection.

Considering she brought up Carver just now, he had little doubt she was here to threaten him. He’d been talking to her little brother, even if the man was a Templar, even if they hadn’t gotten along before. He found himself having a growing understanding and admiration of the little Hawke, as he came to realise just why he’d joined the order.

So he’d spoken to him when he saw him, and after some awkward fumbling around, trying to find out whether he should be rude or nice, Carver had grabbed the opportunity with both hands. Anders had found the rudeness of the younger Hawke was nothing but a defense. No wonder of course, with Gail as an older sister.

And then he’d seen Carver again by accident, and that time they decided to meet again on a day off for the Templar.

That was last time.

Gail Hawke in his clinic was not a surprise.

“Say what you must and then leave me to work,” he finally managed to grit out between his teeth. He could argue with her for an eternity, but it would be entirely pointless. Even if she understood his point, she’d oppose him for the sake of it.

She was a lost cause, and even Justice had come to that understanding by now.

Justice currently saw her more like a demon than a human. Quietly Anders had to agree, even while he stuffed his hand down his smalls at night, panting her name to stale Darktown air and recalling that night they’d had. Over and over and over again.

“Good. So what have you been up to with my little brother lately? If you are trying to seduce him into your bed to get his help for that mage underground of yours, I’ll have to warn you off. He’s such a virgin he probably doesn’t even know to locate his dick.”

“Is that jealousy, Hawke?”

She scoffed, but that clearly got to her. Jelousy it was then.

“Just keep your filthy hands off him. You’re twice his age- no, I bet you could be his grandfather!”

“I could be.” He smirked, and she bristled. Perfect, he loved getting her worked up. He could hardly be Carver’s grandfather, but that was entirely beside the point.

“Why does it bother you what I do with your little brother anyway? _You_ rejected me. _You_ said I ‘wasn’t that good’. You regret turning me out on the street in the middle of the night now? Or are you afraid of the family dinners if Carver turns out to actually like me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffed, on the defensive now. “Carver doesn’t like you, he’s only being so nice because you’re one of mine. _Everyone_ is only being so nice because you’re one of mine. You honestly think people would voluntarily be civil with some dirty apostate smelling of sewage?”

“Oh, you’re laying on the jealousy rather thickly there, Hawke. Might wanna tone it down if you don’t want me to use it against you.”

“I'm _not_ jealous!”

She shot forward, sharply slapping him across the face. His head jerked back in surprise, but he was smirking at her even while he slowly moved back to stand normally, cheek burning and twitching around his smile.

He had her in his pocket now, it seemed.

“Gail Hawke is jealous of her baby brother. Andraste’s frilly knickers, I’m happy to have gotten to see this day. Glad to know you care after all.”

“Hurt him and I’ll tear your balls off by hand, you piece of filth.”

“Don’t worry, Hawke. _I’m_ not the one hurting him.”

She flinched as if he had returned the slap, looking stricken while she searched his face.

“I never hurt my brother! How dare you imply I hurt Carver!”

“Not physically,” Anders agreed amicably, “but your words are sharp as razors even while you’re being nice.” And he was the masochist who loved to cut himself, apparently. It would be so much easier if he could fall for Carver. It would be so much easier if Carver returned those feelings.

Forget about Gail Hawke and those dark full lips pulled into a sneer; Gail Hawke and her delicate hands on her rough, blood stained staff; Gail Hawke and her sharp wit and cutting tongue.

Carver was so much nicer.

If only it was that easy.

“I warned you. That’s all I came to do. Keep your dick in your pants around my brother.”

“Will do, Messere.” He gave her a mock salute while she already turned away to stalk off.

Anders counted it as a victory, even if that night he had his hand stuffed down his smalls, and he was panting Gail Hawke’s name and seeing strong warrior hands in his mind’s eye instead.


	6. Handers - Battering ram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-15  
> Pairing: Handers  
> Warning: Almost Tranquility, but not really

Isabela once described Aveline as a woman shaped battering ram.

It was hard to fault her for coming up with such a descriptor, considering she had been talking to Hawke. But she was wrong in describing Aveline with it.

Aveline was more like a stone wall, unyielding and hard. Quite the opposite of Isabela herself, who moved like water and was all lush curves, tempting…

Yes, Isabela was like the ocean. Tempting, beckoning, promising freedoms and pleasures untold. Please her and you shall receive in return, but if angered she’ll kill ruthlessly with just a flick of the hand. Strike at her and she’ll move around your hand; you’ll come back dripping and panting if you’re lucky enough to survive.

Aveline was the cliff standing tall over said ocean. Defying the beck and call of the water day after stubborn day, refusing to diminish except for the occasional strike back at the taunting ocean.

Strike her a thousand times and you’ll barely have scratched her skin. Aveline was hard as rock and as beautiful as a mountain.

Hawke… now Hawke was definitely a human shaped battering ram. And most of Kirkwall’s ruffians learned that within the first year of Hawke’s presence in the city, only the new or particularly foolish managing to ever forget that. They rarely lived to tell the tale.

After Hawke’s arrival to Kirkwall a few unwritten rules were quickly established: Anger Hawke and you die. Anger his friends and you hurt. Hurt his friends and you die.

A few years later, a very important rule was added to the list - unspoken but not unwritten, as it appeared graffitied on several walls in Lowtown and Darktown where the foolish men could be warned.

Hurt Hawke’s lover, and you’ll _wish_ you were dead.

So nobody truly had to doubt what was to come when Isabela slipped through the halls of the Gallows, disarming traps with deft fingers and popping into a room here and there to loot a securely locked chest.

Nobdy had to doubt what was going on when they saw the grim face of the guard captain with her sword and shield in hand amble forward through doors that looked like they had suffered an explosion.

There was no explosion. There was just Hawke, kicking down doors regardless of whether they were locked - an amused Isabela may actually be closing them ahead of him just for the sake of him stopping, leaning back slightly to lift a heavily armoured boot and then kick hard enough for wood to splinter and the door to crack into the opposing wall with unnecessary violence.

Well, unnecessary for the door anyway, because it wasn’t the door’s fault.

It was the Templars’ fault, and they knew it perfectly well.

They heard them coming - the sound of the Champion of Kirkwall storming through their Gallows like a battering ram, mauling anyone who dared to step too close.

They knew they had little time left and even less hope for their lives, being in a dark and too hot torture chamber with a blond apostate strapped to a table. They knew they had to hurry, but the fire refused to heat any faster and the brand was not hot enough to perform a quick rite before the armoured boot came in view, crashing through their door without even a knock.

The youngest of the Templars present spontaneously wet himself.

The biggest one wailed in fear.

The meanest one burned himself on the fire, trying to back away from Hawke as fast as possible.

Anders would admit to having been scared shitless, while at the same time never truly worrying, because he _knew_ Hawke would be there in time. He was shaken and filthy when Hawke carefully lifted him off the table to set him down, barely waiting for Isabela to release all the straps and locks first. The way he handled Anders was tender and delicate, like he was picking up a vase of the finest glass his mother had told him was an heirloom. 

Anders appreciated the care. If Hawke and he didn’t bicker on a daily basis about everything, he might have protested. If Hawke wasn’t as blunt and rude with him as he was with everyone else, he might’ve insisted he wasn’t that fragile.

But he knew that the care was love and the gentleness was a sign that Hawke had honestly been afraid of losing him, so Anders basked in it for now. Besides, his legs weren’t quite convinced about supporting his weight yet anyway.

“I remember this scene,” Isabela suddenly crooned, right behind them with Aveline as they made their way out of the Gallows unhindered. “You talked about this in that chateau, at the fancy Orlesian party. Or in the caves beneath the chateau anyway.”

“Huh… now that you mention it…” Anders clung to Hawke a little tighter, glancing over his shoulder to see the pirate. “I described this exact scene, didn’t I? What did I say I would do after the saving?”

“You’d be all about finding the best way to thank Hawke!”

She was far too excited for this, so Anders made a mental note to make sure the curtains were properly closed tonight.

“You already know how to thank me best,” Hawke deadpanned, and if Anders didn’t know any better, it may have sounded innocently gruff. Isabela took it as dirty as it was though, by her cackling, and Aveline made an exasperated noise.

So it was mostly to appease the guard captain that Anders pressed into Hawke’s side, forcing him to stop for a moment so he could push up on his tiptoes and lean over all the dangerous spikes of the hard armour for a resounding kiss to a scruffy cheek.

“Thank you, Love. I knew I could count on you.”


	7. Carrett - Fussing like Mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-17  
> Pairing: Carver/M!Hawke  
> Warning: Incestuous romance

“I hate Kirkwall.”

“I know you do.”

“It’s not even Ferelden, why-”

Garrett shut his brother up effectively by shoving him into the back room they shared in Gamlen’s hovel. Carver cursed - the weather, Garrett, the smell of the hovel, all of it in one breath - but stumbled in, each step accompanied by the wet squelch of his worn boots.

Garrett was in no better state - nor his clothes for that matter - and the first thing he did was light their fireplace with one hurried swipe of his hand. They had plenty firewood, unlike most people in this part of Lowtown, because Garrett insisted on dragging as much wood back every time they ventured outside the city. It was a habit Carver cursed on every other breath while carrying so many branches he could barely see where he was going, but right now he made a deep sound of relief and shuffled closer to the fireplace immediately.

“Take off those wet clothes or you’ll catch your death,” Garrett scolded, earning a scowl from his younger brother.

“Yes mom, will do.”

“Don’t call me mom.” Garrett pointedly ignored the way he flushed in embarrassment, knowing perfectly well he was fussing exactly like their mother would, and grabbed the back laces of Carver’s clothes instead to undo them. Carver sputtered against his help but didn’t push him away, allowing Garrett to peel the soaked clothes off him one by one. Garrett only left Carver’s smalls for him to do himself while grabbing one of their itchy blankets of the bunk bed, being ready to wrap Carver up dry as soon as the wet smalls were kicked in a corner.

“Stop fussing about me and take care of yourself brother. You’re the fragile mage here, remember?”

“The fragile mage who was able to beat you in arm wrestling up to two years ago, you mean?”

Garrett laughed at Carver’s upset squawking - that one always got to him, even if it was two years ago and Carver could beat him at the same game with both Garrett’s arms against one by now. Carver was too easy.

Still, he acquiesced by starting to strip too, all too happy to get rid of the cold clothes clinging wetly to his skin. He hung everything out to dry as he went, pausing in his underclothes to gather up Carver’s clothes as well to hang them to the nails in the wall, earning himself a few impatient sounds from his little brother.

“Stop that! Get your arse naked and in front of the fire or I’ll tell mom it’s your own bloody fault when you lay in bed hallucinating about pink Darkspawn again!”

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Garrett countered with a laugh, but he bent to pick up the last of the soggy clothes Carver dropped to hang it first. When he put it over the nail above his head, he was suddenly grabbed from behind.

“Blighted son of a-”

“Language Carver,” Garrett sniggered, allowing himself to be turned around and pulled to the fire. Carver practically ripped Garrett’s undershirt off of him, despite his protests.

“Ouch, Carver that hurts, it’s stuck-”

“Shut your fragile mage mouth, brother.” And apologetic check-up of hands sliding over skin to check where it chafed was given anyway, before thumbs hooked under Garrett’s smalls and pushed those down too.

“Have some respect for your fragile elders,” Garrett harrumphed, wiggling out of Carver’s grip to grab his own blanket.

Two ratty blankets, neither quite enough to cover them as they’d like.

They huddled before the fireplace, shivering and shaking equally.

“This is your fault,” Carver said unprompted, when the silence stretched too long. Carver had yet to learn the value of comfortable silence. Garrett wondered if he ever would.

“We need the money Carver. And I need your help out there.”

“To protect your fragile mage arse from being whooped by bandits.”

“To protect my fragile mage arse from being whooped by bandits,” Garrett agreed magnanimously.

“You’re not really that fragile, brother.” A hand slipped around his back, drawing him close against Carver. It was warmer, more comfortable.

Garret reciprocated by pulling away again, ignoring Carver’s pout and worming his way under Carver’s blanket instead, snaking his arm around his little brother in turn to pull his blanket around.

Their own little blanket fort, built around two Hawke pillars. Garrett would make the joke if it wouldn’t be so terribly inappropriate to refer to themselves as pillars to a man barely out of puberty. Carver was getting flushed enough over the amount of skin to skin contact without thinking his big brother was joking about their dicks.

“Your skin is cold,” Carver finally blurted when it became apparent that Garrett wasn’t planning on responding to the reluctant compliment.

“Yes, Carver. That’s why we are doing the naked snuggles in front of the fireplace. I was _trying_ to not make it more awkward for you by keeping my mouth shut.”

“You’re awkward even with your mouth shut.”

“No _you_ are. You’re even awkward with your mouth full and that’s no small feat.”

“I can’t help it you fantasise about my mouth being full of your cock, brother.”

“Who said anything about-” Garrett was the one bright red now, pulling away to look at Carver in indignation. To his surprise Carver was smirking, even if his face was so red he looked like he was far more embarrassed about his own words than he was willing to admit.

“- just... see? See you’re the awkward one? What are you making sex jokes about your own brother for anyway?”

“You’re the one who wanted to do naked snuggling, what d’you _think_ I’d think!?”

“I’m your brother!”

“And naked! And hard!”

“Am not!” Garrett was just in time to grab Carver’s wrist before it would land in his crotch, and he glowered at his younger brother. “This is _not_ how we’re going to do this Carver.”

Carver pouted, looking mildly put off. After a moment he turned his face away from Garrett, his hand remaining lax where Garrett held it between them.

“Fine,” Carver muttered. “Brother, can I please snuggle a little more for warming up. Sexily.”

Garrett nearly choked on a laugh before he could help it, releasing his brother’s wrist to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Fuck it Carver, do you even know what you’re doing to me? Fine, have it your way.”

“Really?” The way Carver perked up shouldn’t be so adorable, and definitely not so exciting. Garrett rolled his eyes and leaned in, planting a kiss to the corner of Carver’s mouth.

“Big brother’s kisses will warm you up fine, little brother. Anything else... may be spoken of later, and elsewhere. I will not be walked in on by Gamlen or mother while fucking my little brother, thank you very much.”

“Hmph... that’s fair.”

“Alert the Chantry, my brother is being reasonable!” Garrett laughed at Carver’s indignant sounds - or at least he did until his lips were claimed in a clumsy kiss.

A clumsy kiss that quickly lost all its clumsiness, making Garrett wonder where Carver had learned how to kiss.

Maker have mercy, he’d let Carver refine those techniques a little further, it seemed.


	8. FenHawke/SebAnders The trouble of chastity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: R-18+  
> Pairing: SebAnders/FenHawke

“Let me be blunt. Ah’m propositioning you both.”

Hawke nearly spit out his wine, halting his near violent heaving movement just in time to keep it in his mouth. He stayed like that shocked for half a second before Fenris patted his back, and he swallowed with difficulty.

“Would you care to explain that a little, Sebastian?”

Hawke had no idea how Fenris was remaining to be so composed, but he was grateful for it. He knew his lover rather liked the sight of Anders and Sebastian both, although they had swapped barely anything more than idle fantasies. Just little bits of teasing. Maybe some suggestions of either of the two joining in the bedroom and the consequences thereof, but never serious.

How could they be serious, when Anders and Sebastian were already together?

Years ago, Hawke had found himself attracted to all three of them. He had not known who to pursue, flirting with the lot of them. Anders seemed most responsive, and that was the main reason he hoped to seduce Anders into his bed rather than one of the other two. He liked them equally, so he would take whoever was most willing.

Surprisingly he found himself making out with Fenris first, and after one passionate night with the elf he didn’t dare push for Anders anymore. In less than a week Anders and Sebastian came together, blocking them off as options for good.

Hawke was not complaining, mind you.

Fenris needed some time, but he came back. And he was happy with Fenris, he regretted nothing. He may be attracted to the other two, but his infatuation with them had waned as his love for Fenris had grown, and the two men became nothing more than a dirty suggestion in the bedroom.

A dirty suggestion that spurred Fenris into a delicious frenzy half of the times.

In any case, Hawke could never have imagined _this_. He thought Fenris should be surprised too, but Anders was the only other one fidgeting.

A sight Hawke hadn’t seen for quite some time. Anders used to be this fidgety regularly on trips, especially with Sebastian being along. Hawke figured it was nervousness born from a crush on the archer, and as expected the nervousness became less over time again. But here it was, full force.

Hawke narrowed his eyes to give Anders a look, momentarily wondering if they had even spoken about this. If Anders was just as surprised about Sebastian’s words.

But it seemed more nerves than surprise. A relief, in the very least – not that he doubted the consent in their relationship. In fact, he knew no better than Sebastian had kept to his vows of chastity.

“Of course.” Sebastian nodded severely, reaching over to put a hand on his lover’s shoulder. Anders jumped slightly and a heat rose to his cheeks, but he scooted a little closer to the archer as well, sending odd mixed signals in Hawke’s opinion.

“Y’re both aware Ah took vows of chastity, are ye not?” There it was, and Hawke was all the more confused with the confirmation. But he nodded, carefully taking another sip of his wine. “Anders took no such vows, and Ah do not want him to suffer a forced chastity he never asked fer. But toys are simply not the same, ye understand?”

This time Hawke did not spit out his wine. Instead it went down his windpipe, and he coughed and spluttered for air. Fenris slapped his back to help him cough it up, but after a moment Anders stood to lean over and press two fingers to his chest, letting a healing spell flow to clear out his windpipe.

And also granting Hawke with a perfect view down his shirt, where he met the sight of thin ropes splayed all over his skin.

Hawke pushed back, coughing and heaving, face bright red. He pointed an accusatory finger at Anders, but was unable to bring out any words.

He was so hard in his breeches he would be ready to go straight away.

“Why come to us?” Fenris questioned casually. Hawke levelled him with a look of betrayal, but Fenris simply quirked an eyebrow at him.

Then he put a hand on Hawke’s crotch.

“Because we both feel attracted to ye, of course.” Sebastian smiled magnanimously, as if nothing were odd about this conversation. “There’s nothing Ah’d rather watch than see ye fuck Anders fer me together and satisfy him in the way Ah can’t.”

An odd high keening sound escaped Hawke’s throat, and if he hadn’t been hard yet he was now. Fenris gave him a generous squeeze in reward.

“What do you have to say for yourself, mage?”

Anders squirmed harder, but his eyes fluttered up to meet first Hawke’s gaze, and then Fenris’.

“Please?”

Hawke inhaled sharply and he met Fenris’ eyes for just a moment before the nodded firmly.

“Let’s get to the bed then, shall we?”

 

For a chaste man, Sebastian turned out to be surprisingly kinky. The ropes were one, but Anders’ fidgeting turned out to be caused by a rather large butt plug.

Hawke couldn’t really judge though. Not with how he enjoyed the evening, including Sebastian’s eyes boring into the scene hotly throughout.

_No_ , he mused as he slid the plug back into the slick hole full of seed in the middle of the night. He gave the reddened bum an appreciative pat before finally letting go.  _No, he was hardly one to judge._


End file.
